Crossing Lines
by trinforthewin
Summary: Darren uses his ineptitude with a tie as an excuse to wish Chris a happy birthday before the Klaine skit at a Glee Live concert. Chris has always been bad at revenge. They get drunk as hell in between. RPF. Darren Criss/Chris Colfer.  I suck at summaries
1. Happy Birthday, Indeed

The spontaneous cheers and shouts from the enthused audience behind the curtains were like a drug to Chris. The Anaheim audience was drinking this concert up, and he was absorbing their excitement. Sure, he was working on his 21st birthday, but could this honestly be described as working? No, he was doing what he loved with the people he loved.

"River Deep Mountain High" was drawing to a close. Chris heard the ending strains of Naya's and Amber's voices floating back to him on the air, bringing with it the thrillingly anticipatory feeling that came with being on stage in front of thousands of people. The "Brittany/Klaine" skit was coming up soon. Chris tried to remind himself that his nerves had nothing to do with acting with Darren.

Chris stood up, stretching in front of the door that he would be expected to walk through in five minutes. He wasn't sure where the rest of the cast and crew were; it was unusual for him to have any moments of quiet on the Glee Live tour. Still, he wasn't complaining. The continuous chaos of tour life only made the rare peaceful moments more cherished.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHRIS!" A loud voice shouted from directly behind him, making him jump in shock.

Chris turned around to see Darren. So much for peace. "Thanks, Darren . . . for the fiftieth time." His shorter, excitable coworker had taken to sneaking up on Chris at random moments throughout the day to wish him a happy birthday. It never failed to amuse him when Chris yelped in surprise, so Chris had tried to master the skill of looking nonchalant when his heart was racing inside.

"Fifty-first time, by my count. But you're welcome." Darren beamed at him, and Chris tried to control the nerves that cropped up that had nothing to do with the upcoming skit.

"What are you doing here?" Chris asked distractedly. It was hard thinking straight when Darren was aiming that high-powered smile right at him. "You have to be onstage soon."

"Yeah, they're probably looking for me," Darren said agreeably.

Chris rolled his eyes. Darren had this enviable skill of being completely unconcerned with everything. Hakuna matata.

"I need help." Darren pouted pathetically, his hazel eyes trained on Chris for maximum effect.

"With . . .?" Chris asked suspiciously. Working with Darren had taught Chris to always expect the unexpected. Once, Darren had dragged Chris out of bed at three in the morning for a Disney marathon. The boy thrived on spontaneity.

"My tie-tying talents are . . . nonexistent," Darren admitted, gesturing at his chest.

Chris forced himself to pull his gaze away from his handsome face to his equally attractive body. To Darren's credit, he actually did seem to need help. His tie was tangled up around his neck. Chris took a step towards Darren and started fiddling with the knot, carefully avoiding the skin showing beneath the man's Dalton blazer and unbuttoned white-collared shirt. It only took him a moment to fix the mess Darren had created.

"There," he announced, dropping his hands from Darren's chest reluctantly. "_How _you managed to do that, I'm not sure. . . ." Chris tried to take a step back, but bumped into the wall behind him. How did that get there? He and Darren must have shifted in the struggle with the tie. "'Scuse me." Chris pointed behind him. "I'm a bit stuck."

Darren didn't move. "Are you nervous?" His eyes searched Chris's, hazel meeting light blue intensely.

It took a moment for Chris's brain to understand what Darren was talking about. "Um, no?" His voice went up an octave, betraying him. "I mean, I'm nervous we're going to miss our cues if you don't get back to your place."

"So that's a yes on being nervous, then." Darren nodded decisively. "Right, I can fix that. In return for the tie, of course." He leaned a bit closer, his face an inch from Chris. "Happy birthday," he whispered with a mischievous smile.

Chris found himself whispering, too. "You already said that."

"True." Darren didn't move away, a fact that made Chris apprehensive. "Well, how 'bout I spice things up a bit?"

And Chris didn't have time to think of a response, because suddenly Darren's lips were on his, and it was confusing, because he was dressed as Blaine and looked like Blaine, but this was _so_ not like Kurt kissing Blaine, this was more, and _holy crap_, since when could Darren kiss like that?

Chris sort of melted back against the wall, one hand reaching up to pull Darren in by his tie. Darren followed, his lips still attached to Chris's, and the pair pressed against the wall fiercely. Chris couldn't help but run a hand through Darren's hair, pressing his lips against Darren's insistently.

And then Darren _licked_ Chris's bottom lip, and he _moaned_, he couldn't help it. Darren took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside of Chris's mouth.

Dimly, Chris registered that Heather had started speaking onstage, but he didn't care about being late anymore, he only cared about Darren and the noises he was making and the sinful things he could do with his tongue.

But all too soon, Darren was pulling away, his eyes bright and glinting, his hair half-gelled, half-curly. Chris could only imagine what he looked like; from the feel of his lips, they were definitely swollen.

"What was- you just- you can't- Darren!" Chris spluttered, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "What the hell was that? We don't have time to get made up again! Are you crazy?"

"You weren't complaining much earlier," Darren replied with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. "Unless those moans I heard were complaints."

"Darren!" Chris shrieked indignantly. "Oh, God. Stop talking. Don't- ohmygod."

"Yeah," Darren grinned cheekily at Chris and grabbed his tie, which was, for some reason, hanging out the front of Chris's pants. "Happy birthday." And with one last knowing smile in Chris's direction, Darren turned and walked away, just as Heather called out, "Blaine Warbler, will you come here?" from onstage. The man had impeccable timing.

Chris leaned back against the wall, trying to slow his breathing. He fussed with his hair, trying to get it to lay down, then shrugged and gave up. Why not indulge the ever-observant fangirls? They'd have a field day with his and Darren's appearances if they could put two and two together.

Straightening up with a sigh, Chris took a quick inventory of his clothes to make sure nothing was ripped, misplaced, or undone. He then walked up the stairs that led onstage to make his entrance.

_Sometimes_, he thought a minute later as he did a high-kick onstage that was intentionally close to "Blaine's" face, _Darren Criss is the gayest straight man alive._

Happy birthday, indeed.

**Author's Note:** This is my first attempt at Criss Colfer. I didn't really ship this until I wrote this fic. Make of that what you will. ;D Feel free to review and tell me what you think! I love writing fanfics but I'm not sure if I'm that great, haha. Ah well, fun is fun. :)


	2. Payback

Chris balanced his Hogwarts duffel in one hand and searched for his keys with the other. He pulled them out of his back pocket, opening the door to his apartment in L.A. He walked in, quietly closing the door behind him, and set his duffel on the ground near his couch. Home sweet home. He collapsed on his couch with a blissful sigh, closing his eyes in contentment. This hadn't been the first time he'd been home since the tour, but it _had_ been the first time he'd been home in any sort of permanent way.

The tour had ended on a good note, with no huge incidents. He hadn't had any time to rest, of course, since shooting for _Struck By Lightning_ began immediately after the tour was over. It was nice to be able to come home and have nothing to worry about except shooting for season three of Glee the next day. He was ready to don his Kurt Hummel persona again, and he was sure the fans would be excited to see more of Kurt and Blaine after the summer hiatus.

Thinking of Blaine inevitably lead to thinking of Darren. A dangerous pastime. Chris hadn't heard from his friend since the tour, which was strange- usually Darren called daily, even if it was just to say a quick _hello, how's life_. He was surprised to realize how much he missed Darren when they weren't constantly together; it was like being ripped apart from your other half. Sure, Darren was overly hyper at unreasonable times of the day, and yes, he seemed to enjoy blurring the line between friends and coworkers a bit too often for Chris's heart to handle, but he was the one person who seemed to truly _get _Chris, and who Chris seemed to understand in return.

And, like clockwork, thinking of Darren led directly to thinking about the kiss. Neither had mentioned it since it had happened in Anaheim, which made Chris more than a little nervous. Darren was usually so easygoing; he never kept quiet about things, he never got uncomfortable, he _always _talked to Chris about things that could potentially hurt their friendship. Not this time, apparently. Darren had remained distant, if not polite, for the rest of the tour. Chris couldn't help but wonder what it meant.

_Nothing_, he reminded himself. _Darren's always been touchy-feely. It was my birthday. That's _all.

He couldn't help but wish that Darren had chosen a less addictive present than his lips. Chris couldn't get the taste of them out of his mind, no matter how many times he told himself that crushing on his straight best friend was a terrible idea. He decided to try to wean himself off of Darren for awhile- at least until he could think of his friend without salivating. He'd just be responsible, be business-like, avoid any non-Glee conversations or get-togethers, and-

Chris's phone rang, the harmonized Warblers' version of "Teenage Dream" loud and unexpected in his silent apartment. It was Darren. Chris's mind immediately began a battle against itself.

_Answer it_.

But he had just said he was going to avoid non-Glee conversations. Answering the phone would qualify as _not_ avoiding.

_It might have to do with Glee._

True. Maybe Darren had lost his schedule for tomorrow and just needed to know what time to show up at Paramount. . .

_He hasn't called for over a month. He doesn't deserve your help. Don't answer it. Let him know what the silent treatment is like_.

Yes, but. . .

_Don't answer it._

Chris answered it. "Hello?"

"Did you get drunk without me?" Darren's voice came through immediately, demanding, as if this weren't the first time he had spoken to Chris in over a month.

"Hello to you, too," Chris replied dryly, using sarcasm to mask how breathless he had become at hearing Darren's voice again. "Me, I've been fine. Yeah, the movie's going great. Thanks for asking."

"Helloooo, Chris!" Darren trilled impatiently. There was a loud _thunk_ from his end of the phone, and Chris heard a series of insistent beeps right after. "Yeah, just the twenty-four pack, thanks."

"What?" Chris wasn't sure whether it was the warm timbre of Darren's voice muddling his brain, or the usual confusion that was an occupational hazard of talking to Darren, but he wasn't following this conversation at all.

"No, not you." Chris could practically see Darren waving his hand in the air dismissively. "Cashier. Anyway." There was a pause as bells chimed obnoxiously, and then things on Darren's end were mercifully quieter. "Did you get drunk without me?" He still sounded stern.

Chris was starting to feel a headache coming on. "What the hell are you talking about, Darren? When did I say I'd get drunk with you?"

"You didn't, but will you? You turned twenty-one, but I didn't have a chance to get you smashed while we were on tour, and then you jetted off to be even more busy with your movie, like, right after that. . . so now's my chance. Will you?"

Chris felt his head spinning as he tried to keep up with a conversation that had nothing to do with Glee and he should therefore be avoiding. "Um. . ."

"Excellent! I just bought the booze, so I'll be swinging by your place around nine, okay?" Darren gave a wicked laugh and whispered huskily, "Chris, dear, I _do _believe I'm going to be your first." He laughed again. "See you in a couple hours!" he chirped, his voice back to normal.

"Darren, we can't! We have to work tomorrow!" Chris yelled into his receiver frantically. "Darren! Are you listening? Darren. . .?"

He heard a dial tone and cursed. Next time, he wasn't going to answer the phone.

* * *

><p>9:00 arrived that night, along with Darren, a twenty-four pack of some foreign beer, and a bottle of wine. Chris let him in, chuckling at Darren's exuberance.<p>

"Chris! We're gonna get drunk as hell!" Darren announced, spinning into the apartment with a flourish.

"One day," Chris said exasperatedly as he closed the door behind his friend, "you'll realize that most people find greetings polite, if not preferable."

"And one day _you'll _realize that I am not most people," Darren retorted, setting the alcohol down on the table in the kitchen. "Now, how does your sound system work? We need mood music." He walked over to the stereo and began fiddling with its .

"What, no romantic dinner? No moonlit stroll?" Chris asked indignantly.

"Nope, no wining and dining for you. I plan to get you drunk and have my way with you." Darren pressed a button on the stereo, which emitted a few warbled and vaguely musical sounds before being lost amid an ocean of static.

"Mm, well, as long as we're on the same page." Chris moved behind Darren, who was still attempting to work the stereo. "Need help?" He reached down to press the right button, but Darren swatted his hand away before he could touch anything.

"No! I've got this. I am a technological wizard," Darren proclaimed, twirling the radio tuner button aimlessly. "Your system is just different than mine. Maybe it's not working because it doesn't know me." He sat back on his haunches, tapping his finger against his chin thoughtfully. "I know!" He snapped his fingers comically. "I'll name it."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Here we go again with the naming inanimate objects thing. You, sir, have a problem."

"I do not!" Darren protested. "It's not like I name _everything—_"

"My remote control," Chris reminded him. "Our trailers at Paramount?"

"Tom and Jerry," Darren recalled fondly. "Yeah, that was adorable."

"My running shoes—" Chris continued, ticking objects off on his fingers.

"—Hercules!" Darren insisted. "They help you go the distance!"

"—Nelson Beato's afro—"

"—Floyd, a perfectly respectable name for a badass set of hair."

"—Not to mention your temperamental toaster—"

"—which hasn't given me a bit of trouble since I dubbed it Charizard," Darren pointed out smugly.

There was a moment of silence as Chris stared at Darren with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Darren turned back to the stereo, studied it, then turned back to Chris wearing a huge grin.

"I've got it."

"What?"

"Gladys." Darren looked at him expectantly, as if waiting to receive praise for his genius.

Chris just sighed in response. Sometimes he wasn't sure whether Darren was really the older one. Darren, apparently satisfied with his christening, turned away from Chris again.

"You're a good Gladys, aren't you?" Darren cooed. "You'll work for me, won't you, Glad?"

"You're being ridiculous, you know," Chris informed him. "And Gladys is a terrible name.

"Don't listen to him," Darren told Gladys after shooting a glare behind him at Chris. "It's a lovely name." He pressed a few more buttons, produced an iPod from his pocket, and hooked it up to the stereo. The sound of static miraculously disappeared and was replaced by the soothing, rustic music of what Chris identified as Freelance Whales. Darren stood up triumphantly and stared at Chris expectantly.

"What?" Chris demanded. Darren simply raised his eyebrows. "Okay, okay," he relented. "You're a technological wizard."

Darren scoffed. "I know _that_. I want you to apologize to Gladys for calling her name stupid."

"Dar, I'm not going to apologize to a stereo. I haven't stooped to your level yet."

Darren didn't say anything, just stared at Chris with unblinking, hazel eyes.

"Okay, _fine_," Chris snapped. He looked at the stereo, which seemed to be staring at him, too. "Gladys, I'm sorry I called your name stupid," he muttered, feeling ridiculous. "It's a lovely, hip, feminine name and it suits you well" He turned back to Darren. "Happy?"

"Absolutely." Darren grinned, turning the music up as the iPod transitioned from "Ghosting" to Pink's "Raise Your Glass," a song likely left over from Darren's Warbler days in Season two.

"Now what?" Chris asked uncertainly, never having done something like this before.

"_Now_," Darren said, grabbing Chris's hand and waltzing into the kitchen, "we get drunk as hell."

Chris allowed Darren to tug him into the kitchen and handed him a bottle-opener that he had been given on his birthday.

Darren eyed it speculatively. "Pink sparkles?"

"A birthday gift from Lea," Chris explained, leaning against the refrigerator as he watched Darren pop open the bottles with ease. He tried not to make it too obvious that he was staring, but didn't avert his eyes fast enough when Darren turned around.

"It suits you." Darren pressed a freezing hand to Chris's face and laughed when Chris jumped. "Still cold, excellent. Here you go." He handed Chris a beer and stepped back into the living room, flicking the lights off in each room.

Chris trailed after him slowly, trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in brightness. "Darren?" he whispered, feeling stupid.

"Yes?"

The answering whisper came from somewhere near the couch, Chris thought. The only light came from the glowing screen of Darren's iPod, from which an unfamiliar, energizing electronica song was emanating. Chris slowly made his way over to the couch and sat down on it, careful not to spill his drink.

"It's dark," Chris stated quietly, feeling that soft voices fit the darkness better than normal ones.

Chris was sitting closer to Darren than he had intended; he felt the reverberating thrum of Darren's low laughter and tried to subtly scoot farther away.

"Yes, it is," Darren agreed, still chuckling. "That's generally what happens when the lights are off."

Chris rolled his eyes instinctively, though Darren probably couldn't see them in this lighting. "Ha-ha," he muttered. "Does it have to be _this _dark?"

"It's atmosphere," came the indignant reply from right next to him. "You can hold my hand if you'd like." Darren drew his legs up and turned so he was facing Chris, sitting cross-legged on the couch with an excited expression. "Now," he began, speaking in the manner of one who was building himself up for a grand speech, "we may commence the—"

"Darren."

"_What_?" Darren sounded irritated that Chris was making light of the situation.

"I never said you could put your feet on my furniture." Chris looked pointedly at the offending shoes.

Darren ignored him and tapped his bottle against Chris's. "Bottoms up." He grinned and took a large swig from his bottle. Chris followed suit, swishing the alcohol around in his mouth before swallowing it with pursed lips.

"Do you like it?" Darren inquired, watching Chris for his reaction. Chris made a noncommittal noise, and Darren laughed. "Yeah, beer only tastes good if you're drunk. This is cheap, too." he took another drink before continuing. "It's Polish. It gets you drunk faster," Darren said, in what Chris would suppose was a bad imitation of a Polish accent if he had any clue what Polish people sounded like.

"How do you know that?" Chris asked in mock suspicion. "I'm starting to think you're secretly a raging alcoholic."

"What can I say? It's the Irish in me." Darren laughed again. "Actually, my knowledge is the result of a very specific Google search."

Chris had to giggle as he imagined Darren typing "how to get drunk fast with a gay friend who didn't invite you over in the first place" into the search bar. He took another drink at Darren's urging and was able to get the stuff down more easily this time; still, the taste didn't appeal to him.

"Why did you bring wine, too?" Chris asked, remembering the unopened bottle in the kitchen.

"In case we want to be classy instead of trashy," Darren replied, grinning cheekily. "Cheers." And he tipped his head back and downed the rest of his bottle in one go.

Time seemed to pas quickly, long stretches of the two of them talking about anything and everything interspersed with Darren bringing bottles of beer from the kitchen one at a time before finally bringing the entire case into the living room. The wine lay forgotten on the kitchen table.

Chris had been keeping track of his drinking, but lost count after five or six. The bad taste of the alcohol had long since ceased to be a problem, and Chris hastened to inform Darren of that fact.

"Darren!" Chris called out, his eyes closed. He tried to figure out what he was lying down on. It was warm and so _comfortable_. He opened his eyes and turned his head, his cheek pressed against fabric.

"Yes?" Darren's answer came from somewhere above Chris. He realized his head was lying on Darren's lap, with the rest of his body sprawled lengthwise on the couch, but he couldn't remember how he had ended up that way. Chris stopped wondering about that and struggled to remember what he'd wanted to say.

"Darren," he repeated unnecessarily, his cheek still pressed flat against Darren's pants. "You were right about. . . um. . . the beer. . . ." He lifted a hand and began playing with the drawstring on Darren's hoodie.

"What about it?" Darren asked. Chris could tell without looking that he was smiling.

"It's— the beer— it's. . . not so. . . tasting. . ." Chris slurred. He paused, trying to gather his thoughts, then realized he had no idea what he was talking about. He twisted his body, lifting his head off of Darren's lap reluctantly to look for more beer. It was a difficult task; the room seemed to be spinning and bright spots were interfering with his vision. His eyes lit upon the empty beer box on the floor, and he groaned.

"You've had enough anyway," Darren told him, eyes raised. "I kept my promise. We're completely shitfaced."

Chris peered at Darren owlishly, trying to get the other's form to stop wavering. "You don't seem that drunk," he accused, standing up from the couch for no real reason and almost toppling onto Darren. "Why aren't you as drink as me?"

"It's not my fault you're a lightweight. Of course, it might have to do with the fact that you drank at twice my speed." Darren laughed and downed what little remained of his bottle. "There, all gone. Man, we are gonna— tomorrow will _not_ be fun." he stood up too, looking slightly dizzy on his feet, and moved over to his iPod. "But right now, life is _awesome_, so let's enjoy it." He winked at Chris and began flicking through the songs on his iPod, which, Chris belatedly recognized, had been playing a song from Darren's own album up until now.

"You're so vain," Chris sang absentmindedly, "you probably think this song is about you." He ambled over to Darren unsteadily and rested his chin on Darren's shoulder, glancing at the iPod screen.

"Hey, I've gotta support myself, right? I buy my album, I get money. It's the circle of life. I'd call it a full circle moment, but that's your per— pregora—" He paused, closed his eyes for a moment, then raised a fist into the air in victory. "Prerogative," he said slowly. "Four-syllable words are not a good idea right now. Shit."

Chris, who had not really been listening in the first place, suddenly gasped and lifted his head. "Stop! I freaking _love_ this song!" The opening notes began to play, and Chris clapped his hand excitedly.

"Keane?" Darren asked, raising an eyebrow. "I never pegged you as a Keane guy."

"I'm not, really, but this song is _so good_," Chris replied. "Let's dance!"

Darren opened his arms in agreement, looking uncertain of where to put his hands, but Chris stepped forward and burrowed into Darren's chest, his arms wrapped around Darren's back in an almost hug, his head fitting perfectly into the crook of Darren's neck. Chris waited for the shorter boy to stiffen, but Darren just enclosed Chris in his arms in return.

"Mmm. . ." Chris hummed happily. "You're so _warm_." He inhaled deeply. "And you smell good," he added thoughtfully.

"Thanks." Chris felt the vibration of Darren's laughter throughout his body, and an unidentifiable thrill ran down his spine.

A small part of him knew he was being the stereotypical clingy drunk and was maybe overstepping his boundaries and comfort zone a little, but those were matters to worry about when he was sober. For now, he would do as Darren said, and just. . . enjoy life.

Chris closed his eyes as they began to sway, not even straying from their original place by the stereo. The music seemed to fill him completely, and he felt an amazing sense of _rightness_. Right then, enveloped in Darren's warmth and cinnamon scent, surrounded by the nostalgic tone of the song as they rocked gently from side to side, he felt at home. It was like they shared a bubble of peace, separated from the outside world, the distant sounds of traffic as strangers' lives sped by.

_That's just the alcohol talking_, Chris told himself, surprised that he could manage any form of a deep thought in his current state.

"I feel like we're in a cocoon," Darren murmured, as if he could hear Chris's thoughts. Chris made a noise of assent without speaking. He felt strangely serene, and thought talking might ruin the moment.

Darren began to softly sing along with the chorus, his voice harmonizing with the song. "So little time, try to understand that I'm trying to make a move just to stay in the game; I try to stay awake and remember my name, but. . ."

And Chris joined him, their voices blending seamlessly, high and low. ". . . everybody's changing, and I don't feel the same."

They lapsed into a companionable silence, each content just being with the other, with no need for small talk. It could have been awkward, Chris mused, but that was the beauty of alcohol— it removed one's sense of propriety.

As the song drew to a close, Chris turned his head to a more comfortable position, tucked more firmly against Darren's neck, his cheek resting on his left shoulder. Eyes still closed, he murmured the last line of the song, his face so close to Darren's neck that each word he sang was a brush of lips against warm skin. "Oh, everybody's changing, and I don't feel the same."

They stopped dancing instinctively. The song changed, but neither of them moved. The sensible part of Chris's brain told him to lift his head, to disentangle himself. . . but another, more primal part insisted that there was nothing wrong with staying in this moment, Darren's arms around his and his lips flush against Darren's neck, no, nothing wrong with feeling this good.

"Chris," Darren said after a moment. Was it his imagination, or was Darren breathing a little faster, his voice a bit uneven?

"Darren?" Again Chris's lips brushed Darren's skin, tingling as if set aflame wherever they touched.

"Chris!" Darren said more insistently, his voice definitely ragged. "Chris, you—"

Now Chris's lips were moving of their own accord, kissing a feather-light path across every inch of Darren's skin they could reach.

Darren gasped, his breathing erratic. "Chris, please—" he stuttered, pulling back as much as he could with Chris's arms still wrapped tight around him. Chris stopped and pulled his head back to look at Darren. His green eyes were flecked with gold. Chris could see every facet of them from this close, could see that they were wild with some strange emotion. They looked at each other, neither breaking the silent gaze, as if they were spellbound. Chris lowered his arms and leaned in slowly, giving Darren a chance to back away.

Darren didn't move, just closed his eyes. "Chris, we—" he began in a soft voice, but then Chris's lips had reached his and were ghosting over them. Darren gave a small sigh of warm breath that smelled faintly of alcohol, then relaxed his lips, moving them against Chris's just as softly. Chris couldn't help a slight moan at the contact. For weeks he had relived the kiss he'd received no his birthday. Now, to have the real thing, was almost painfully delicious.

They stayed like this for a few seconds, neither speaking, the music playing on the iPod forgotten. Chris leaned forward, his hips rocking into Darren's and causing them both to gasp in longing. Then, without warning, Darren froze.

Chris whined at the sudden loss. "Whassamatter?" he mumbled, trying to recapture Darren's lips. But Darren pushed him back, looking uncharacteristically angry.

"_Shit_, Chris!" Darren raked his fingers through his hair, mussing up his already untidy curls. "Fuck!"

Chris blinked and stepped back. This was the first time he'd seen Darren so pissed. Actually, if he thought about it, he'd never actually _seen_ Darren without a goofy smile on his face.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Darren swore again, then wheeled around and unplugged his iPod from the stereo.

Chris didn't move, couldn't move. Darren had never spoken to him like that before. _Never_. Suddenly he didn't feel drunk at all. He watched Darren move around the room looking for his stuff in the dark. Chris's eyes were stinging with tears that he unsuccessfully tried to blink back. How could he have been so _stupid_? Darren was straight, he'd said it millions of times, and he'd thrown himself at the guy like he was the last donut at fat camp. He wanted to apologize, to say something, _anything_, but he didn't think he would be able to make a sound.

Darren turned around, ready to move to the door, when he inadvertently glanced at Chris and stopped dead in his tracks. With a tortured expression, Darren lifted his hand as if to wipe away Chris's tears, then slowly lowered it again. "Chris, man, I'm sorry," he said, looking genuinely upset. "But you can't just— we can't—" He broke off, biting his lip. "You need to control yourself," he said heavily. He looked at Chris a moment longer, then began walking to the door.

Despite knowing that he was in the wrong, Chris couldn't help but feel a spark of anger at this injustice. He needed to _control_ himself? Like he was some sort of lust-filled deviant?

"Well, that's rich of you to say," Chris said in a brittle voice, his eyes mercifully dry again. Darren stopped, one hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn around. Chris continued to speak to his back, his voice getting steadily louder. "Who's the one who kissed me on tour, Darren? I didn't instigate that! I would never do that to someone! _You_ kissed _me_, Darren, and then ignored me for weeks! How do you think that _feels_?" He stopped, breathing hard, trying to hold back a sob. "It feels— like— shit," he ground out, fighting to stop the tears. "So consider this payback, and get the hell out of my apartment." Now, as if they had been waiting for him to finish his rant, the tears began cascading down his cheeks.

Darren turned around and took a step toward Chris, looking anguished. A distant part of Chris's brain registered how dark his eyes looked— such a dark green they were almost black.

"I didn't mean— I didn't think—" He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly, then opened them again, gazing at Chris steadily. "I am. . . _extremely_ sorry."

Chris just stared at him. After a moment, Darren turned around again and left.

Chris sighed, surveying his living room dully before walking into the kitchen. He flicked on the light, almost welcoming the pain in his eyes at the sudden brightness. He willed himself to cry, but now that he could do so freely, the tears refused to come.

Chris glanced at the oven's clock, which read 3:54 a.m. He groaned at the thought that he had to be at work in three hours. He was already feeling an aching throb behind his eyes, but he wasn't sure if that was due to the alcohol or the confrontation. He glanced around listlessly, not exactly sure what he was looking for, when he spotted the full bottle of wine that Darren must have forgotten in his haste to leave.

_In case we want to be classy instead of trashy._ Chris could hear Darren's voice clearly in his head, could hear the laughter in his words.

He picked up the bottle of wine and opened it, taking a long drink straight from the bottle. More alcohol would ease the pain in his head for now, but probably make it worse in the morning. Exactly what he needed. He didn't deserve to feel good.

Chris took another swig of wine, choosing to sit on the floor instead of a kitchen chair. The floor was more uncomfortable, with its cold linoleum tile and the hard surface of a cupboard cutting into his back as he leaned against it. He examined the wine broodingly, his mind jumping from thought to thought but always circling around one subject: Darren.

_In case we want to be classy instead of trashy_.

Chris gulped down more wine, feeling sick but managing a miserable smile. He didn't feel the least bit classy, but he forced himself to drink more wine anyway. If Darren were here, maybe he would have appreciated the irony of the situation.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I decided to add another chapter to this, and I like how it turned out. This should be finished in another short chapter, which should be up within a week, if all goes according to plan. Feel free to review and tell me what you think! :)

Oh, and people have been asking if it's true that Polish beer gets you drunk faster- I have no clue. I went by writer's liberty and made shit up. I've never even been drunk before, so if this is all terribly unrealistic, I apologize. D:


	3. Winning Isn't Everything

**AN: **Here's the final chapter! Sorry for the wait; this one gave me a lot of trouble to write, and then I was distracted by the CrissColfer kiss from Glee!Live. _Hot damn_. Anyway, hopefully I did this justice. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chris woke up with a pounding headache reminiscent of being whacked in the head with a frying pan. Not, of course, that he had ever <em>been<em> hit in the head with a frying pan– but the resulting pain would surely be the same as what he was currently feeling.

He rolled over onto his side to get up, but was stuck on the floor breathing rapid, shallow breaths at the slight movement. "Oh," he groaned, his insides writhing. "Too fast. _Way_ too fast." He waited until the world stopped spinning and then gingerly raised himself off of his kitchen floor, taking inventory of the various aches his body was feeling. His tailbone was unusually tender from his odd sleeping place, but when he raised his shirt and twisted around to peer at it, it didn't look nearly as bruised as his ego.

A harsh rattling sound that was discordant and loud in the silence of the morning made Chris fear an earthquake before he realized it was his vibrating phone, which was lying screen-down on the floor beside a pale pink puddle of unfinished wine. Chris bent down to pick up his phone, going as slowly as possible to take mercy on his head, and wiped a few stray droplets of wine off of it before answering.

"Hello?" He all but whispered, not having the energy to check the caller ID.

"Chris?" A frantic voice came through the speakers immediately, sounding as if it were coming from a megaphone to Chris's sensitive ears. He identified the voice as Ryan Murphy. A very, very unhappy Ryan Murphy.

"Yeah, hi, Ryan," Chris sighed, trying to stifle a yawn. "Is everything all right?"

"Where are you! You were supposed to be here an hour ago!"

Chris winced and held the phone a foot away from his ear. Everything was so _loud_. He supposed this was his first hangover, and he was certainly not eager to try drinking this much again. With a jolt, he realized Ryan was still shouting at him through the phone and hastily moved it closer to his ear again.

"– an _hour_ ago, I've been calling every five minutes, and I can't find Darren either–"

"Ryan," Chris interrupted in a low voice, his eyes closed. "Please. _Please_. Quietly."

"Why are you whispering!" Ryan practically shouted. "What's going on? Where the hell are you? Where's Darren? We're running a tight ship and you–"

"I'm coming, Ryan. Sorry. I. . . overslept," Chris explained carefully, attempting to sound carefree, well-rested, and _not_ as if he were trying to speak past a raging headache. "Give me twenty minutes."

"What about Darren?" Ryan asked, sounding slightly mollified.

"I don't know where Darren is," Chris answered shortly. "Sorry. I'll see you in twenty minutes."

"'Bye, then." Ryan sounded irritated, but thankfully hung up the phone without yelling any more.

Chris glanced at the time on his stove, giving another groan. He was late to work for the first time in his entire life, his breath smelled and tasted like bruise, he was sore as all hell because he stupidly decided to fall asleep on the floor, and now he was expected to show up on set and like he was in love with the guy that he had come on to and then yelled at only hours before. He briefly considered calling Ryan back and telling him he couldn't come to work, but Chris knew that on Glee, you didn't skip unless you had a damn good reason to. He imagined telling Ryan that he couldn't come to work because he had a hangover and sexual tension with Darren. . . . No. He had to go.

Chris got ready in a record ten minutes, popped an aspirin, and sped to Paramount, praying that no cop would catch him on the way. The roads were surprisingly sparse, though, and he reached set within another five minutes, giving him time to check his appearance in his rearview mirror in the parking lot before getting out. His eyes looked slightly bloodshot, but the redness in them had been diluted after he spent a couple minutes splashing water on them before he left; anyway, they were the best he could do. The makeup artists would have to work their magic.

Chris stepped out of his car, straightened his shirt, and marched into the heart of the activity on set, where it appeared they were already filming a scene. _Just be professional_, Chris told himself firmly as he walked past a group of hired background dancers learning choreography. _Don't mention last night when you see him. Don't even _talk_ to him if you don't have to._

And then, as if the mere thought of Darren was enough to summon his presence, Chris looked up and saw him about fifteen feet away, talking to Ryan. Chris had planned to check in with Ryan, but that suddenly did not seem like a good idea anymore. He spun on his heel and began to walk purposefully in another direction— any other direction. He had only had the chance to take a few steps, however, before Ryan shouted his name. Chris deliberated whether he was far enough away to pretend not to have heard, but when Ryan called him again, he winced, turned around, and walked resignedly over to where Darren and Ryan were standing.

"Where were you going?" Ryan asked, irritated. Chris shrugged and mumbled an incoherent answer, which Ryan ignored. "Well, since you two couldn't bother to show up on time—" Ryan paused to glare at both of them, waiting for them to explain their tardiness and beg for forgiveness. Neither of them said a word. "We've started filming Lea and Cory's scene," Ryan continued. "We're almost finished, though, so head over to Costumes and Makeup and come straight back here when you're through. We're going to start with 'Blaine's Transfer.'" Ryan shoved them both in the direction of the makeup trailer and turned back to Lea and Cory, who were filming a scene in McKinley's parking lot.

Chris began walking toward the trailer immediately, taking long strides to tell Darren that, no, he did _not_ want company. Darren didn't seem to take the hint, though, because he sped up until he was walking alongside Chris. The part of Chris's brain that wasn't freaking out at the awkwardness thought that they probably made a funny picture— two people speed-walking, one studiously ignoring the other.

"Chris, are you okay?" Darren asked hesitantly, his concern mixed with the huffs of someone who's slightly out of breath.

"Do you really care?" Chris responded blandly, doing his best to sound light and conversational.

"Of course I— why would you think that I don't care?" Darren sounded hurt, and Chris had to fight the urge not to look at him.

"Oh, I don't know," Chris mused, reverting to his usual defense of sarcasm. "Maybe because you—" Chris broke off, remembering his original intention of pretending the previous night had never happened. "Forget it. It doesn't matter."

"Look, I just wanted to say—"

"_Forget it_," Chris repeated harshly.

Darren didn't say anything else, thankfully. The rest of the short walk to the makeup trailer passed by in an awkward silence that was not broken as they entered the trailer and sat down in their seats.

"Morning, boys!" Eryn, the chief makeup artist, greeted them cheerfully. Chris and Darren both muttered hellos, which made her smile falter briefly, but she recovered quickly. "Wow, you two look tired! Late night, huh?" Chris and Darren were saved the embarrassment of answering as she gently pushed them both into chairs right next to each other and moved into an adjoining room to gather her materials.

"Chris," Darren said as soon as she was out of earshot, "I'm really—"

"Save it, Darren," Chris said, trying to keep his voice level. "Let's just do our jobs, okay? Don't make this hard."

"How _can_ we do our jobs, when we can barely talk civilly?" Darren asked desperately. "You won't even _look _at me when all I want is to—"

"Maybe I'm not looking at you because I can't _control myself_," Chris interrupted bitingly, still carefully averting his gaze from Darren's. "I wouldn't want to lose _control_. Then you might kiss me back like you did last night, and we wouldn't want that, would we? So you do your best to avoid me as much as possible, like you did after the _first time_ you kissed me, on tour. . . and I'll do my best to keep my animal urges under control."

Eryn returned at that moment to dab concealer on Chris's skin, so he was able to focus on her instead of Darren, who had either been struck silent by Chris's words or was reluctant to speak in front of anyone else. It seemed to be the latter, because as soon as Eryn moved away again, Darren spoke

"I shouldn't have said that, Chris. I was upset," Darren said quietly.

"And I was drunk," Chris replied, staring at the ceiling instead of facing Darren. "But you still seemed to blame me for my actions, so feel free to take responsibility for your words."

Eryn had walked back into the room, so Chris knew not to accept a response from Darren. He tapped his foot impatiently, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Eryn seemed to pick up on the vibe in the room.

"Why so quiet?" Eryn inquired conversationally as she applied some cream to Darren's face. "Usually you two won't shut up!"

"Just tired," Chris muttered, using his go-to excuse for not acting normal. Eryn accepted it without question, clicking her tongue against her teeth sympathetically as she put the finishing touches on their makeup.

"There you are!" Eryn smiled at Chris and Darren kindly. "All finished. Now, you better get next door and change quickly; Ryan sounded like he was at the end of his rope earlier."

Chris was the first out of his seat. He sped to the door, threw a thank-you over his shoulder at Eryn, and was next door changing into Kurt's outfit before Darren had even exited the makeup trailer.

As Chris pulled on a ridiculously stylish sweater-vest and laced up a pair of knee-high boots, he thought about Darren. If he was honest with himself, he was to blame as much as Darren. Yes, he was wrong to kiss Chris one day and then get pissed at Chris for reciprocating another. . . but Chris shouldn't have pushed himself onto Darren. Darren had tried telling him to stop, but Chris hadn't wanted to listen.

_He kissed me back_.

He _had _kissed back. He had seemed to want it as much as Chris did. And on tour, when Darren had kissed Chris. . . had that been just an act? Just a friend wishing another friend happy birthday?

_No_, Chris decided firmly. _There was something between us then, and there was something between us last night_.

Or was he just fooling himself, indulging in a fantasy? Chris remembered how, as a kid, he had watched the girls at recess plucking petals off of flowers.

_He loves me, he loves me not_.

Was his rationale for Darren harboring secret feelings as baseless as a child's chant?

Chris glanced at his reflection in the mirror, trying to push such thoughts to the back of his mind and think like Kurt. Blaine. Fashion. Glee club.

Chris left the costume trailer, noting thankfully that Darren seemed to have gone on ahead instead of waiting for him. He reminded himself— again— to think like Kurt, not like Chris.

_Blaine. Fashion. Glee club._

Chris began walking back to set, allowing a wry smile to flit across his face. _Right. If only _my_ life were that simple._

* * *

><p>"Blaine, I— why— what are you doing here?" Chris stammered, using all of his control to look at Darren with shock and pleasure rather than mortification. This was so much worse than he had imagined. He kept picturing all of the events from last night piling up between them until he hardly knew whether he was saying the right lines, or making the right facial expressions anymore. He was just trying to get through this scene so he could get away as soon as possible.<p>

"I transferred." Darren— _Blaine, not Darren_— smiled warmly at him, and Chris felt his heart thump pathetically in his chest. Darren, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem doing his job. Damn his professionalism. It cropped up at the most inopportune moments.

Chris got lost in Darren's eyes for a moment. After spending so much time decidedly _not_ looking into them, being forced to was a bit overwhelming. It was too easy to pretend that it wasn't Blaine looking at Kurt— to pretend that it was _Darren _looking at _Chris _with so much affection and care. They were so green and brown and gold, like fall, with none of the darkness they had had the night before. And they were currently losing that affectionate look and turning over to hesitancy.

_Shit. My line. _Chris froze, staring at Darren as he racked his brain for the correct words.

"Cut!"

Chris sighed and turned to Ryan. "I'm sorry, I lost the line. Let's go again."

Ryan looked confused, and Chris thought he knew why; he usually had his lines down perfectly. "Rolling!"

"Blaine, I— why— what are you doing here?" Chris began again, looking surprised as he stared at a smiling Darren.

"I transferred."

"But what about Dalton? Wes, David, the guys, what about your dad—" Chris rattled off rapidly, hardly inputting any emotion in an effort to stay focused on his lines.

"You were worth it," Darren— _Blaine_— said simply, raising his eyebrows. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course I don't," Chris said, biting his lip. "I just don't want you to do this because you're trying to be. . . _noble_ or something, I don't want you to ruin your—

Darren leaned in right on cue, capturing Chris's lips with his own. Chris kissed back hesitantly, trying to fight back the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him. This was nothing like last night. This was fake, wrong, and it felt like the universe was mocking him by giving him what he so desperately wanted in a way that made it impossible to truly have.

"Cut!"

Chris's head whipped around as he shot a frustrated look at Ryan. "Cut" meant there-was-something-wrong. "Cut" meant do-it-again. "Cut" meant you're-going-to-kiss-that-boy-no-matter-how-bad-it-hurts.

"Chris." Ryan just stared at him for a moment, one of the rare occasions that he was lost for words. "Chris, just. . ." He sighed, and Chris felt himself getting defensive. What? What was he doing wrong? "More emotion, please," Ryan said finally.

They went through the scene again, Chris making sure to emote this time to avoid having to repeat the scene. Chris and Darren kissed again, and Chris tried to swallow his feelings and allow Kurt's to shine through. He thought he had done a better job this time, but—

"Cut!"

They redid the same scene so many times over the next hour that Chris lost count. Finally, though he didn't look satisfied, Ryan called for a lunch break. Chris stretched his arms behind his back gratefully. He didn't think he would be able to get through the scene again without having some sort of emotional breakdown, which would be fun for no one. He turned to Darren to share a look of relief at the break before realizing that he was supposed to be ignoring Darren and hastily turned away. Unfortunately, Ryan was waiting for him on the other side.

"Chris, what's going on?" Ryan's eyes pierced him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just really tired," Chris answered mechanically, itching to get away.

"All right." Ryan nodded, but still his eyes searched Chris, too all-knowing for comfort. "Just relax during lunch and we'll try again after, okay?" He patted Chris on the back and walked over to Darren.

Chris took this opportunity to speed away. He passed Ashley and Lea, who both called him over to eat lunch with them, but he mumbled an excuse and kept going. He wasn't hungry anyway. All he wanted was to get far, far away, away from Darren and work and inquiries about his well-being. . . but since that wasn't possible, he chose the next best thing.

Fifteen minutes later found Chris lying face-up on the roof of a building in fake New York, his arms crossed behind his head as he gazed up at the cloud-less blue sky. He loved it up here. The rest of the cast were too afraid to climb up here, but in reality, the buildings had many hand-holds and was relatively easy to scale. The best part was how separated it was from the hustle of Paramount. People rarely walked past, and the few who did never bothered to look up. Up here, Chris was left blissfully alone with his thoughts, which were unsurprisingly still revolving around a certain curly-topped cast-mate.

Chris let out a small sigh and closed his eyes. He didn't even know what to think anymore. He wasn't mad at Darren anymore, not really. Hurt, yes. Confused, yes. All he wanted was to go back to the drama-free friendship they had shared before they kissed. He just had no clue how to do that. He supposed he should let Darren talk to him, but the thought of bringing up _feelings_ with his best friend brought a blush onto his cheeks. Maybe the best thing to do was to move on. Darren obviously didn't share Chris's feelings for him, if his actions last night were any indication.

_But he kissed you back_, an unbidden voice in his head insisted.

Maybe being alone with his thoughts wasn't helping. Chris opened his eyes and—

"Holy crap!" he yelped, scrambling backwards, his heart slamming painfully in his chest. "Darren— what are you— _holy crap_!"

Darren was pulling himself onto the roof, his face shining slightly with the effort. He collapsed onto the floor, breathing out "I'm sorry" between gasped breaths.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" Chris tried to calm his breathing, one hand still on his chest in shock. "Jeez, make some noise next time!"

Darren looked up, not looking nearly as composed and dapper as Blaine although he was still wearing his blazer. "What was I supposed to do, sing on my way up? I could hardly breathe! Not all of us have Spidey climbing skills."

Chris ignored this and asked the more pressing question: "How did you know I was up there?"

Darren suddenly looked nervous. "I know how you work, Chris," he said quietly. "You always climb up here when you're stressed out. Just because I never followed you before doesn't mean I didn't pay attention."

Chris didn't say anything, still processing the information that Darren knew his habits that well.

"Chris, we need to talk." Chris could feel Darren's gaze boring into him, and he looked up unwillingly. His eyes were intense, his expression blazing.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Chris joked feebly with a nervous laugh. Darren, understandably, ignored this.

"Chris, I can't tell you how sorry I am about— well, everything," Darren began, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Last night. . . on tour. . . I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you, even if it _was_ your birthday. If I could take that back, I would.

Chris swallowed past a lump in his throat. "I didn't realize you regretted that so much," he said icily, trying to hide how much that revelation hurt.

Darren looked stricken. "No! No, no, I didn't mean it like that! I—" Darren shook his head as if trying to dislodge the correct words from his brain. "I shouldn't have kissed you. . . like that," Darren clarified. "Not without warning, not under a pretense, and definitely not with the intention of avoiding you for so long after."

"Not how I kissed you last night, in other words." Chris felt warmth rising into his cheeks.

"I don't blame you for that," Darren said quickly. "It wasn't under the best condition, but I'm not mad about it." He paused, and if Chris wasn't mistaken, Darren's cheeks had a pink tinge to them as well. "I kissed you back. So I don't really have the right to be mad."

"Yeah, well, you seemed pretty mad last night," Chris muttered.

"I know. I was. . . drunk, confused— not that that's any excuse for blowing up on you." Darren paused, and his hazel eyes had a faraway look to them. "I didn't sleep well last night. I kept remembering how you looked. Like you _hated _me. Like I had— I don't know, broken your heart or something. And I kept thinking, 'How could you do that to him?' I was more ashamed of myself than I've ever been in my life."

Silence fell upon them. Chris peeked at Darren to see if he was going to continue, but he was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring out over the studios down below.

"You were my first kiss," Chris admitted quietly. Darren turned and looked at him, but didn't say anything. "My first real one. I think what upset me the most when you kissed me was that it didn't _mean_ anything to you. I wanted it to, so _much_, but it didn't. And I guess—" Chris broke off and took a deep, shuddering breath, then continued, the pitch of his voice betraying how nervous he was. "I guess I wanted, just once, to kiss someone just because I wanted to, and because I could, and I was drunk, and you're so—" Chris stopped his verbal spew, knowing he had said too much, revealed too much. He looked down, playing with a loose thread on his jeans so he wouldn't have to face Darren's reaction.

Darren was quiet for a long, tense moment that left Chris wishing he had kept his mouth shut. Then—

"You're wrong."

"What?" Chris looked up, but this time Darren was avoiding _his_ gaze.

"When I kissed you— it _did_ mean something to me. Both times," Darren said slowly. "And— and I was scared of how I feel about you, and I was scared of screwing things up between us." He gave a short laugh, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "So of course that's exactly what I did. Messed everything up."

Darren looked up, meeting Chris's eyes, and his were burning with emotion. "You're perfect, Chris. You _are_," he repeated sternly, because Chris had made a strangled noise in protest. "You're smart, and funny, and _so damn beautiful_ that I can hardly stand it, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I ruined things between us by freaking out yesterday."

"Oh," Chris said in a small voice, not trusting himself to say anymore.

Darren gave a shaky laugh. "Yeah. And I'm not trying to— to push you or anything," he said, looking worried. "I understand if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to lay everything out. I'll feel lucky if you just forgive me, but you have every right to—"

"Darren," Chris stopped him, unable to keep a huge grin from taking over his face. "I do. Feel the same way, I mean."

Darren beamed back, his eyes lit up in happiness and all worry evaporating. "Well, that's a relief. I _really_ wasn't looking forward to jumping off this building in embarrassment if you didn't."

They both laughed. Chris couldn't remember ever feeling so light-hearted. He felt— no pun intended— like he was on top of the world. _So this is how it feels when everything is perfect,_ he thought giddily.

After the laughter dissipated, the air seemed charged with an electrical current. Darren's smile faded. He looked as if he was steeling himself up for something.

"Chris, can I kiss you?" he asked seriously.

Chris laughed unsteadily. "Since when do either of us ask permission?"

"Since I decided to do this right."

"In that case," Chris said, his breath coming faster in anticipation, "yes. God, yes."

And without wasting any time, they both leaned forward, lips meeting in the middle. Chris placed one hand on Darren's shoulder, feeling the muscles stretched taut, and the other hand snaked around Darren's neck as the kiss became deeper. Darren brought his hand up to cup Chris's cheek gently, his mouth moving fiercely against Chris's lips. Then he swiped his tongue against Chris's bottom lip and Chris somehow had the presence of mind to think, _Where did he learn to _do_ that? _before he was lost in the bliss and warmth and heady scent that was kissing Darren Criss.

Chris pulled away first, his breath coming rapidly and his face warm. Darren was flushed, his pupils dark and large, eyes half-lidded in desire.

"Why'd you stop?" Darren breathed.

Chris leaned forward again and rain his hand through Darren's hair, freeing it of its gel and allowing it to curl messily. A dark lock of hair hung down over Darren's forehead, giving him a distinctly Clark-Kent-ish look. Chris smiled in satisfaction.

"There. Now you look like Darren again," he said happily, surveying his handiwork.

Darren laughed. "Eryn's gonna kill me."

"Just tell her you were attached by a bear."

"Right." Darren nodded distractedly. "Can I kiss you again?"

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Feel free."

Their lips connected once more, but this time it was slow and sweet. Darren caressed Chris's cheeks, his lips moving torturously slow, soft against Chris's. Much too soon, they broke apart.

"That," Darren said softly, planting one last lingering kiss on Chris's nose, "should have been our first kiss." He leaned back onto his arms. "I take it you forgive me?" Darren asked, a lopsided smile on his face.

"On one condition," Chris said, deciding that Darren looked far too proud of himself.

Darren's smile fell a fraction of a centimeter. "What's that?"

"Beat me back to set!" Chris scrambled to his feet and began climbing down the building, leaving an astonished Darren behind.

"Wait, seriously?" Darren called, looking over the edge apprehensively. "You're like a monkey! That's not fair! You're kidding, right?"

"Better hurry up!" Chris laughed deviously, already halfway down, as Darren carefully crawled over the edge.

Later that night, as they laughed about the day's events over Chinese takeout in Chris's living room, Darren boasted about beating Chris, the self-proclaimed ninja, in his own habitat. Chris just smiled, quiet but content with the knowledge that he had let Darren win.

_After all_, Chris thought as he fondly watched Darren waving his chopsticks in the air expressively and bragging with a mouth full of chow mein, _sometimes you have to lose some to win some._

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>Thanks so much for reading, and thanks for the kind reviews— they mean the world to me. Feel free to let me know about any Klaine/CrissColfer fic ideas or prompts, and I would be delighted to write them! Drop any suggestions in the comments, send me a message, or look at my profile for alternate ways to contact me. :)_  
><em>


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